the dangers of social media

images-1I learned a lesson last week. I learned the “code” of social media. Not to be confused with the proverbial dress code, dating code, or universal bro code — each which are unfortunately, ostentatiously, sometimes broken — social media has its own understood, accepted protocol. For example…

Indirect tweeting is an art form.

The teens are all on Twitter because the parents invaded Facebook.

Parents can “like” or “favorite” their kid’s status, but comments will negatively impact any coolness factor.

Insulting tweets are totally acceptable if they are retaliatory.

And…

Success is measured by the number of “favorites” and “retweets.”

Let me be the first to acknowledge the good that can come from social media. Among the many benefits, I am thankful that social media is a time saver. It allows us to connect with friends across the years and countries and that we otherwise may have lesser time for; it keeps us in touch.

It also gives us insight into how other generations are thinking. I love having extended, effective avenues to communicate with my kids — especially when they’re stuck in those adolescent stages of not wanting to share too much.

I additionally see social media applying pressure to some areas that otherwise might quietly fade away. I think of the spotlight social media has placed on trending topics — from the areas of semi-subtle government overreach to the recent abuses of not so subtle professional football players. Social media has prolonged the conversation and thus the attention on important topics.

Let me say, too, though, that social media can be dangerous. For example…

… One liners now count as communication; a response qualifies as dialogue. Insults are accepted — even thought to be good and true, especially if exceptionally witty. Respect for other people is secondary to the right to express oneself. Self-focus reigns. Hurting people is justified. Listening is not encouraged..  And… If I feel it, I can say it, post it, take a pic and broadcast it, because what I want matters most.  In other words, social media can sometimes act as an arrogant, selfish, foolishly accepted platform. What are we teaching our younger generations?

This week I had the unfortunate experience of witnessing an emotional drama publicly play out in the Twitter universe. One person says something… another person says something else… the first justifies the next… the next justifies more. There was arrogance, insults, justification for foolish behavior, yada yada yada.

But let me tell you what it was not. It was not healthy conversation. It was not respectful dialogue. It was people who think they’re grown up all hurting one another, and justifying it along the way. The challenge for this semi-humble observer is that I love the many persons engaged in the interaction. I wanted to shout out and say, “What are you doing?! Do you not know how to speak to each other? Do you not know how to have conversation? Do you not know that social media can be dangerous?” Sadly, obviously not. They couldn’t hear me.

The biggest danger of social media is that people think they’re listening when they’re not. They think they’re communicating when they’re not. And they think what they’re doing is wise… when by all means it’s not.

Respectfully…

AR

what’s bigger

1610794_10204629505367041_8243156950910377348_nThis past weekend I had the privilege to gather with several members of my family. There were 27 of us.

It was full of feasting and joy and precious both one-on-one and large group time. We laughed and cried and were both silly and serious. There were ample antics and fun and adult conversation. There was insightful conversation with those teens and ‘tweens and twenty-somethings, each who seems growing up far too fast. It was a wonderful weekend.

I haven’t always thought every weekend was so wonderful. I will admit to taking some days for granted. I will admit to sometimes taking life for granted. I will admit to often having fallen prey to focusing on the minute as opposed to what’s bigger. I will admit to sometimes allowing the proverbial “elephant in the room” to gain a life of its own. Sometimes I have focused on the less important.

I think as a culture we do that frequently; we focus on the less important. We seem to justify the focus, giving it life, supplementing its energy, allowing emotion and passion and anger and empathy to fuel what once was small, thus seemingly snowballing issues and irritants in size to then appear — yes, appear — as something they are not… something other than the less important.

Look around the world…

Look in Ferguson, Missouri.

Look on the streets of Jerusalem.

Look in Washington, D.C. (… ok… try not to look too hard…).

Look on Facebook.

Maybe even look around your living room.

Look at all the places we justify irritation and offense — where we justify the withholding of love, truth, and respect. Look at all the places where we’re so zeroed in on the plank in another’s eye… often so ignorant of our own.

This past year my sister was surprisingly, shockingly diagnosed with stage 4 esophageal cancer (… sorry… if that’s a proper noun, I refuse to capitalize it; it doesn’t deserve it). It came as news out of nowhere. She is 34.

For years we have all gathered over Labor Day weekend. And while we’re always thankful to be together, let me just say that this year, we were thankful a little more.

When you’re focused on the big picture, it’s a whole lot easier to let bygones be bygones… to let the little things remain little things… to not let petty, earthly irritants seduce any more attention than they deserve… and to not feed nor fuel that which is so obviously less important.

It’s easier to thank God for the sunset and appreciate the rain.  It’s easier to care for the crying babe and withhold all judgment.  It’s easier to be generous in our love, mercy, and grace.

While I would wish my sister’s circumstances on no one, I am thankful for how because of her situation — and because of her amazing, humbling, faithful, positive attitude — we are learning how to love our family. I am thankful for the focus on what’s most important.

This past weekend I had the privilege to gather with several members of my family. There were 27 of us. It was a wonderful weekend.

Respectfully…

AR

advice from a crazy family

pile-donated-clothing-largeAre they all yours? Don’t you know what caused that? You must have your hands full. I can’t imagine your grocery bill. How are you paying for college? Aren’t you glad you have boys so you don’t pay for weddings?

These are just a few of the questions and comments my family receives on a regular basis and has for the last 12 years. It seems people could accept us having 4 kids, but after that people assumed my man and I had moved from normal to crazy town. Let me introduce my crazy family. My man and I have been best friends for 20 years and married for 18.  We are a family of 6 fully biologically related brothers (ages 17, 15, 13, 12, 11 and 9) with a sister and another brother thrown in the mix. We call these extra kids our “hyphen kids.” Why would we add more to our rowdy and always hungry mix? They hold a special place in our hearts, and yes, they have families of their own, but we feel God opened a spot in our family for them. They may or may not be sleeping, eating or anything else on a regular basis in our home, but they know our house is their home base and they’re welcome day or night.

When the boys were little we tried to really stress that God had put them all in a family for a purpose. We wanted them to grow and know no matter what, your brothers deep down are your best friends and they always have your back. We came up with the phrase “brother in time of need” (from Proverbs). A friend is a friend, but a brother is there in time of need. We taught them this by wrestling, because it was a simple lesson in physical dominance; when a brother is in need, they can call all brothers. All Wahl boys drop what they’re doing and come to the aide of the brother in need. We wanted them to learn this early, so as an adult, when they come upon a time in need, it will be only a call away. Recently, my brother ran into some bad times, and when my man and I were spending some crazy long nights with my brother, our boys asked what we were doing. Our answer was: “he’s in time of need.” They totally understood what we meant and what he needed. It was a very good parenting moment. They are few and far between, but that was a good one.

Another question I get is: how do you feed all those boys? I must confess I was a horrible cook when we first got married, but the more mouths we had, the more I learned, and the better it has gotten. Our boys for the most part are athletes, which means I try to give them good carb/protein combos and not to much junky processed food. I am a frequent baker — because we are a house full of sweets eaters — and baking is a calming process for me. I try to cook dinners with veggies and lean proteins, but that doesn’t always happen. To be honest, cereal is dinner some nights. My man once went to a seminar where the speaker said, “You’re going to cheat someone/something, and it’s a choice you must make on what to cheat.” I choose to cheat on entertainment or some creature comforts to have healthier food choices. Another choice I try to make consistently is packing our lunch on long game days rather than buying from the concession stand or even a restaurant. We played 10 games this week alone, so eating out is an expensive and unhealthy alternative to planning ahead and packing coolers.

Laundry is yet another issue I get lots of other moms asking about. I have had “Mount Wahl” of  laundry at my house many times over the years. Let me encourage you to conquer it and move onto a method I use now…   Each person has one basket. That’s it: one basket. Your dirty clothes go in, go through the wash/dry cycle, and go back in the basket and to your room to be put away. No baskets of socks, or wondering if thats clean or dirty laundry. I know it seems like more baskets would be more organized, but trust me; it’s not. I have one basket for each of us, a basket for towels that lives in the hallway, and a basket for uniforms. I can do my family of 8-10 people’s laundry in one day if I follow this method. It’s easy to get lazy and let it pile up, but be nice to yourself and keep up on the basket method, and there will be no mountain of laundry to dread.

Respect, love, and affection are major issues for us. Our goal in parenting was to raise kids that other adults enjoy being around. I feel one way we try to teach that is when a visitor/family member/friend/stranger walks into our home, we all stop what we’re doing and say hello.  Affection is a biggie for me. I want to teach them affection has appropriate times and amounts. A hug, kiss on cheek, handshake all are good affections; however, I want to teach them that lingering affections can lead to inappropriate relationships. I’m not sure they can relate the adult/kid relationship affections to their peer relationship and affections, but I pray they do.

Ok, friends if you hear nothing at all, please hear this. I know it feels like when they’re little that there’s no light at the end of the tunnel. Not only is there light, but hopefully you’ll arrive there holding hands with the one you love. Enjoy the noise, the mess, the nights up with a cranky baby, the endless stories they want read. Those times go by so quickly. Trust me, I know it’s easy to be busy; take the time to go on a date with your man. How awesome is it that you can be married to your best friend!  Your kids are important but they have their own life and path to follow. Don’t focus on your kids so much that your man becomes a second thought. He is who will be around, once your kids fly into their own lives.  I pray this encourages all you weary moms, super busy moms, or anyone else who needs it. Until next time…

Respectfully…

Mama Wahl

got sorrows?

395341_2959346665557_1618827085_nThroat tight, fiercely pounding heart throbs in my ears. Eyes wet. And that smell. Why do hospitals always have that smell?

We walked silently to the elevator together after meeting with the doctor. I wasn’t sure I’d make it.  My legs felt funny. Weak. Wobbly.

I literally didn’t know what to say. How does one support, encourage, cheer on, give hope to someone just handed a potential death sentence? How do I take the next breath, how do I find hope HERE?

God, where are You in this?

I took his hand. We made small talk about parking as we walked to the elevator. I wished I didn’t have to drive home. Alone.

I’d met him at the clinic for the appointment. We looked at the images together with the doctor. The nurses had too much compassion – the kind that said, “We’re so sorry you’ve been given this news.”

The last time a doctor looked at me like this was when I was told I’d lost the baby. The days are filled with minutia-sized moments where every thought is being taken captive, lest I give way completely to fear. I feel fear’s snarl, it’s teeth bared at my neck, saliva dripping, lip-licking tongue and hot breath. It threatens to devour me.

I can’t imagine what it must be like for my friend, the man I married. The days have become faith-testing moments, one right after another, only to be repeated, over and over again.

God, where are You in this?  Help me see… I’m so blind and everything’s distorted through the tears.

So without going too much into the details, a birth defect we didn’t even know my husband had is rearing it’s ugly head, threatening his life. We don’t know much yet, but what we do know has us rattled.

We have asked God for a miracle, because the surgery is rather risky. “The riskiest surgery we do,” said the cardiologist. I’m trying not to be angry at him for that. Actually, I’m not angry at all; what I’m trying to not be is afraid. I’m trying to trust God with everything. Even this. Even though in the last few months, a friend of mine’s uncle died with the same condition. It was the first time I’d ever heard of it in my life. And now…

As we begin this medical journey, and I look at Dare 22 in the book, “The Respect Dare,” I fondly remember ironing all those shirts. Thanks to my own physical disability, I don’t iron much any more, and it’s usually the chore I hate most. But I’d iron every one of his shirts every single day from here to eternity if it would change the news we’ve been given. Did You hear that, God? Could we make that trade?

I know, I know better… but still. In the NOW I’m in, I’m grasping through tears at anything that might change this, wondering if I couldn’t please just wake up now and have it be a nightmare… And the tears just keep coming.

Food’s lost it’s flavor, and the world seems a bit gray, so I’m praying, “Where’s the joy I’m to have, even in this NOW that I’m in?” Is my faith so small? Maybe… Maybe not.

So today, when you get mad at your husband for leaving his socks on the floor, or you trip over his shoes, or he leaves a dish on the counter, be thankful he’s even there to do that. Maybe take a moment and ponder what it might be like if he wasn’t.

And if you think of it, please join us in praying for a miracle for my husband. For complete, miraculous healing without surgery. And if God says, “No,” please pray for us as we journey through the steps of learning, traveling to specialists, and making appointments. Pray we do what is right and do not give way to fear… And that we are both strong and courageous.

Respectfully…

Nina

grab the remote

17-mrhankeyFor my second ever guest post on the Intramuralist, I wish to explore the often over-looked values of television, a medium that receives a lot of bad press from those smug people who are oh-so sneaky by saying they “don’t own a television” (like we don’t know what Netflix and Hulu are). We all know of the dangers of TV, that it makes kids fat and promotes immorality and will make you go blind if you sit too close (just one of those things your grandma tells you that you believe before realizing it’s crap). We all know TV is everywhere, that Americans watch too much of it, that it has a huge impact on society/culture/the universe, and that it is linked to the rise in violence in teenagers, infidelity in adults, and swearing in infants. My response:  whatever. Not that these points aren’t important, it’s just that every single thing on this earth can either be used destructively or beneficially (see money, sex, power, fame, sports, imagination, fire, pit bulls, kale), and people like to focus on the bad about TV and neglect the good. For the purpose of this very serious and academic article (/end sarcasm) I am going to focus primarily on how I have found TV to be a valuable tool for bettering your life — not that I won’t throw in something political every now and then.

tumblr_lo83amBN0N1qmi9ggo1_400Let’s start with a little case study of my own life, because what reader doesn’t like a long personal history of the writer in the middle of an article? I’ve had my bout with health problems the past couple years. When I spent last summer stuck in bed, many people asked me if I was spending my time reading loads of great books. People who asked this question have an idyllic view of what pain is like (a view I still adopt now when thinking of my plans for future flare-ups). It doesn’t mean you get to spend the day curled up with a good book; it means you’re laying in bed trying to find the least uncomfortable position, counting down until the next dose of pain killers, and reminding yourself to stop grinding your teeth. I had already spent many days like this when my internship-less, job-less, plan-less summer began. Without even knowing the medical use of distraction for non-chemical pain management (a phrase I recently learned in summer school — huzzah! knowledge!), I discovered TV:  a way I could almost escape the throbbing and burning and the giant elephant sitting on my chest… a way I could still sort of experience a “normal life” (i.e.: what I called anything that wasn’t spending a few months of the “best years of my life” in bed). I could watch relationships, adventures, and life unfold for fictional characters that couldn’t judge me for my back, elbow, and wrist braces, or fear me like I’m going to infest them with a brain-eating parasite. I didn’t have to put effort into conversation or hide my pain or even wear a bra, but I could still observe human interactions (or actors’ interpretations of writers’ imaginings of human interactions, which is probably more realistic than reality TV depicting strangers trying to survive together in the wilderness without supplies or clothes — aka reality TV). But most of all:  TV can be downright funny. There is no better painkiller than watching absurd people do and say absurd things.

YIN5UBesides its medicinal purposes, television has another power that is largely overlooked by its naysayers:  it brings people together. I noticed this phenomenon in my own family and how we spend the precious time when we’re all together. When all of my siblings reconvene at my parents house after a few months of not seeing one another, on our first evening together there are two things that are bound to happen:  we eat a delicious meal together, and we either talk about or watch TV together. Why would a family waste precious together time that happens only a few times a year on watching TV? To my family, watching TV is pretty recreational. We don’t just stare at the screen, we interact with each other and the characters by laughing together, repeating the funny lines during commercial breaks, and discussing who will be kicked off this episode of “Master Chef” (usually determined by how little drama the person adds to the show, how much they were featured in the episode compared to previous episodes, and the quality of the food which we deduce by how much we like them as a human being). Weeks after a night together, few families still remember and laugh about their game of Monopoly, but we still laugh at what we saw together on TV. We have all heard that TV can tear people apart as it replaces communication and relationships, but it seems like we have fostered our familial bond through our common love for a few TV shows — we randomly text each other funny quotes that often open communication when we’re hundreds of miles apart. My older sister and I even have an ongoing “Dick Van Dyke Show” trivia game that goes back years (bet you didn’t know one of the show’s few inconsistencies is Laura having two maiden names). I will simply text her a question that I come up with, and if she cannot answer it, I win. What other family is as cool as that?

For me, TV isn’t a mindless way to escape my problems and waste away my life. It’s my drug of choice, a tool I use to stay connected with the people I love the most, and a way to explore new ideas and opinions that I disagree with or haven’t thought about. While TV is often unrealistic and is indeed only a group of writers’ thoughts, it can still show you that maybe you don’t have it all figured out. NBC’s drama “Parenthood” brings up many difficult topics in a way that makes you think, teaches you empathy for the struggling characters, and demonstrates that maybe the hardest issues are more than a black and white “anti” or “pro.” What makes USA’s “Psych” interesting is not as much the running jokes or goofy characters, but the struggle of a man who never takes anything seriously as he confronts very serious topics. You laugh at Shawn and his lighthearted antics while together you confront heartbreak, risk-taking, sacrifice, love, friendship, and our own mortality. Shows like “Parenthood” and “Psych,” while one a drama and the other about as goofy as you can get, both lead the audience to think about important things that we must all confront.

modern-family-smotheredIf you look at the cover of almost any TV show ad, you always see the same thing: a group of people… people who have backstories, problems, struggles, and relationships just like you or me, and these are the foundation of any genre of show, movie, book, story, or real-life human interaction. Relationships are the heart of both TV and our lives. They are often messy, come with both struggle and laughter, and are the most relatable thing in any story because we all cherish them. Television shows capitalize on the fact that no two humans are alike by examining the clash of different people who either choose or are forced to go through life together, despite their many differences. “Community,” recently picked up by Yahoo as a web series, explores and pokes fun at the clashes of race, religion, orientation, class, and age through a randomly assembled study group by making you laugh as you cringe. The best part of the show is how it manages to do all of this while exploring what it means to be a classmate, a friend, and a fellow-human being (the mascot of the community college where the comedy takes place is fittingly a Human Being). [See video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iE8meUf0qCM.]

TV is a tool that I use for many purposes. When my health gets worse, I use it to lower my pain with laughter and distraction. Other times I use it to connect with the people I love. It exposes me to new ideas, opening a door to study them more. But what draws everyone to it is what it says about relationships — very different individuals learning to protect and strengthen the bond between them. One of the best examples of this is the caricatures of a libertarian government employee and his pro-government second-in-command, Ron Swanson and Leslie Knope, respectively, and their friendship told on “Parks and Recreation.” Leslie and Ron are not friends because they are alike; in fact, they clash on almost every single issue and topic and attitude (except breakfast food — they both love breakfast food), but they maintain their strong friendship through mutual respect and admiration. I think this is what the Intramuralist is all about — respecting people and their opinions — not because you agree with them, but because they are human. TV is a fun activity that can entertain a bedridden, braless, teeth-grinding teenager, as well as a large group of people who may not have much in common. It allows people to come together in a way very few things can — when a goal is scored in the World Cup, a whole country jumps up and cheers. TV should never replace relationships, but it can be a tool to bring people together and remind us to have respect and love for others. I think TV can teach us to do what Jeff said in the clip from “Community” above:  to extend the same compassion to one another that we give to sharks, pencils, and Ben Affleck. It’s easy to talk about the vices of television and see it as a mindless time waster, but it’s way more than that. It’s time for TV to be seen not as an evil but as a tool that can be used for many different goods. So throw away that book and grab the remote; it’s time to watch more TV.

Respectfully…

B

everyone needs a superhero

1451570_10202476070333458_130126264_nIf you had told me thirty years ago that I would be following the heroic antics of Marvel superheroes in movie form, I would have laughed and walked away. The closest I ever got to comic books while growing up was a stack of Archie and Richie Rich back issues left behind in the mountain cabin we bought when I was little. I read them again and again until I was bored with them, and I never sought out any more comic books.

But having raised geeky kids, and lived with a geeky husband, the superhero and his super deeds have become regulars in our lives.  Sitting through the latest Marvel super movie, the literary critic in me noticed once again that these stories usually run along a similar theme, and the characters in these movies (and perhaps in the comic books, though I haven’t opened one) follow similar archetypical patterns. The beauty of these patterns is that they reflect the deepest cries of the human heart. A biblical worldview perspective shows how universally appealing the superhero tale can be.

The story of the superhero follows a similar pattern, even though there are large variations from time to time.

The struggle between good and evil. The moral tale becomes very clear. Good and evil are clearly depicted. Even the colors, the setting, and sometimes the music that accompanies the good and the evil get treated very differently. Evil is dark and brooding; the lair of the evil ones is sinister, ugly, sometimes cold. Evil is depicted in such a way that the audience hates it, rejects it, finds it vile and wants it to lose. Evil, in short, is not pretty.

We identify with that theme, the great struggle of good over evil. It is one of the most universal, and one of the oldest, stories of all time. We want good to win. We recognize that good MUST win in order for us to survive. So good, as depicted in most superhero comics, does ultimately win. Our hearts are satisfied with that kind of an ending. It’s how we were wired.

Bystanders are innocent and get caught up in the moral struggle. We laughed until we hurt when we saw the crowds of people in Superman 1 and 2 (1978 and 1980) get in the way of the epic battle between Superman and General Zod (or whatever villain got in the way). The cheesy bystanders got tossed around; they cried for help in typical “woe is me” melodramatic fashion.

However, even this is part of the moral tale of good versus evil. The innocents need protecting by a powerful hero, and he does protect them, as promised! He keeps the bus from crashing to the ground; he prevents the mother’s baby carriage from getting crushed, and more. Again and again through superhero literature, we live out the need for someone powerful to save us because we are not strong enough to save ourselves.

The Superhero has incredible powers. He has huge muscles that seem barely contained by the clothes he wears. (In the case of the Incredible Hulk, his clothes cannot contain his overgrown muscles.) He is able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, spin a web to snare an enemy, throw his massive hammer over long distances to defeat a foe, to name a few superhuman skills.

He is a protector. He saves even those cheesy bystanders from the evil plans of the enemy.

The earliest superheroes were found in the Bible, in people like Samson, whose long hair gave him the power to pull an entire building down on his enemies. Some have argued that the gods and goddesses of Greek and Roman tales were also early types of superheroes. Sometimes that works, although those gods and goddesses were pretty petulant and self-serving most of the time. They only saved someone if it made themselves look good, or perhaps ticked off a rival god.

The Villain is dark and brooding and pure evil. His world is dark; his demeanor is just as dark and brooding as his lair. Loki, from the Thor movies, is the antithesis of Thor. To Thor’s strapping muscles and long golden locks, Loki has black hair, wears all black, is of normal height and build (scrawny in comparison). Loki is all bad, all the time, even if he pretends to help Thor. In short, you can depend on the stereotypes most of the time: evil is evil, and good is good, all the time.

Batman seems to break the stereotype in several ways, since he is dark and brooding and often skulks in the darkness to hunt down the evil. As we saw in The Dark Knight, however, no matter how dark Batman is, his foe is always darker and more sinister.

Though some of you may find fault with my overt generalizations, you will have to admit that the human longing for good to vanquish evil is nearly universal. We work out our own longing by cheering for the good, urging them on to fight the good fight.

Why do we create a superhero, and why does it appeal to us so much?

We recognize the truth about ourselves – that we are weak and vulnerable, and we need someone greater than us to win on our behalf. Or perhaps we even place ourselves in the position of the superhero and live out that epic battle in our minds. We are still longing for evil to be conquered.

We desperately need to feel as if there is a remedy. We realize, somewhere deep in our hearts, that we are not the superhero. We live in a sick world, and we long for a cure. In fact, if we were to take a careful look inside, we would realize our desperate need for a superhero because we are trapped by our own evil, not strong enough to save ourselves.

We recognize that in our desperate need, mere man cannot overcome the evil out there. On our own we are weaker than the evil one, and like the innocent bystander, we need an advocate, a hero–someone stronger than ourselves. That superhero–that savior – is the only one strong enough to save us.

We need someone with powers that exceed our own meager abilities. The cry for help comes from deep within our hearts, at the mercy of an overwhelming evil.

Human imagination draws upon the universal archetypes of the superhero and villain, and of the war between good and evil, in order to work out the battle that rages inside. The story is as old as time and as universal as all humankind (and the fables of gods and superheroes from many cultures around the world speaks to that universal theme). The human imagination replays, again and again, in its vast creativity, the epic struggle and the eventual victory of the superhero. The characters may shift and change, but their types remain essentially the same.

Though the authors may not have intended it to happen, I rejoice when I see these archetypes and themes. I see the universal story that the human heart depicts again and again, and it is overwhelming evidence of the human cry for a savior.

Respectfully…

SH

under the knife

jl7052At the age of 56, I find myself in counseling. No addictions, no marriage crisis or nights filled with sleeplessness, yet here I am going every other week to someone I hope can extend a handhold up out of the ruts where I currently reside.

 

A couple of years ago my kids started not so casually mentioning the idea of me seeing someone for my extreme emotional reactions. My frequent hurt feelings and intense crying never seemed over the top to me, but then I was blinded by my oceanic need for affirmation. When I felt rejected by someone, mainly family members, I fell completely apart. Even though I have been in some very stretching accountability relationships over the last 10 years and my personal awareness level is pretty high, I wasn’t able to identify this “growth area” (a nice way of saying weakness or fault).

 

The other thing that concerned my family was my physical fitness. My parents both led very sedentary lives, which affected their health in significant ways. Everyone wants a different outcome for me.

 

Like any good person in denial, I put off making that appointment for several years. But after going through two major surgeries to regain some physical health, it occurred to me that shoring up my emotional well being would be a good idea. I adopted a new mantra:  “I want to finish this life well!”

 

So what does that look like?

 

I began to take inventory of my resentments. Who am I holding a grudge against and why? God showed up here in an unexpected way by prompting me to ask myself some very difficult questions, like:

“What was I getting out of holding on to this resentment?” 

“What may I not be considering about this situation?” 

“How did I want to experience judgment and forgiveness from others?”

 

My counselor added more questions to ponder…

“How was I nurtured as a young girl?” 

“What triggers cause me to act like a hysterical child instead of responding as an adult?” 

“Why am I so reactionary?” 

Part of me feels really good about this process of discovery, but the other part of me says it’s too exhausting. I fight feeling defeated.

 

This lack of confidence carries over into my pursuit of fitness as well. I have a lot of weight to lose. How will I ever achieve this?

 

I need to envision myself differently. The invisible conversation bubble over my head says, “Busy pursuing fitness!” The other day I actually bought fitness wear. Getting back to the gym is next. It’s difficult to change the DNA of someone who loves reading, writing and knitting, but finishing well means adding movement and energy to my life.

 

“Wanna to go for a walk?”

 

Respectfully…

CB

otherness

woman girl on trainFather, Mother, and Me
Sister and Auntie say
All the people like us are We,
And every one else is They.

“We and They” by Rudyard Kipling

I’m on the train going back to Bandung after a day in Jakarta. It’s a nice train – nicer than Amtrak – with a comfortable seating, attentive stewards, and an air conditioner that would rival the blast freezer at any high end restaurant. Families sit and sit together, watching the bad television at the front end of the train, letting their kids run amok. There are a bunch of little kids, and as they run up and down the train – not too loud, oddly – they all stop and stare at me because I’m the only bule around.

It’s odd that primarily when I travel do I feel my otherness. People – mainly kids – peer around corners and over seats to get a glimpse of the lone white guy, as though they haven’t seen one before (and perhaps they haven’t). Usually my neighborhood places in Bandung know me, so I don’t feel as though I stand out much there. It’s just when I travel that I really remember that I’m the only white guy, standing out from the crowd, garnering looks or a few surreptitious camera snaps from a Blackberry under someone’s arm.

The first time I experienced this was about a month after I moved to Indonesia, when I was on the island of Sulawesi (another post on this trip here). What I didn’t go into in the post I just mentioned was my first experience of the bule effect. I was with a friend bringing supplies to a village cut off by a landslide, and a helicopter was picking up boxes of noodles and water to aid the isolated area. I was one of two bule in the vicinity and I felt it. It was palpable. Literally every person in the surrounding area came to see the helicopter landing and taking off multiple times. It was an impressive sight. Apparently, so was I, because when the dust from the helicopter had cleared, the people had not left yet, and they were still snapping pictures with whatever device they had at hand – of me.

The military who came in to supervise the operation was starting to clear the people out when they noticed who they were taking pictures of, and they started to walk toward me. I was a little freaked out because I was not ready for armed soldiers striding in my direction, saying things in a language I did not yet understand.

Frozen, I just stood to see what what about to happen. They got to me and were also speaking quickly in Indonesian, and finally I picked out the words that I would come to associate with traveling in Indonesia: “Foto, Mister?”

With that, no less uncomfortable, but much less fearful, my newfound military friends proceeded to form a line at least thirty deep, each shaking my hand and putting an arm around my shoulder before having one of their compatriots snap a few quick pictures. I’m probably on the Facebook pages of half the military in Sulawesi now, all for the incredible achievement of being different.

It’s no longer an uncomfortable feeling because it is in no way malicious. The most it is is slightly intrusive when someone gawks for too long in an obvious way or asks to take a picture with me. I think that I haven’t done anything to deserve it – I’m certainly no Brad Pitt, and it seems to reinforce the tradition of idolizing foreigners. But at the same time, it’s flattering and kind, and often funny.

After two years, I can tell when they’re going to come over to ask for the picture. By now, I’m pretty good at sensing it. There’s a posse – usually girls – who slowly and not-so-nonchalantly makes its way toward me. They usually are whispering to one another, shooting furtive glances my way, each one coaxing the others to make the first step to asking for a picture. Or odder still, an “interview.”

The interview is an interesting phenomenon because it’s a completely legitimate tool that the universities use to have their students practice their English. They’ll send out groups to talk to unsuspecting bule sitting in coffee shops (usually grading or working on lesson plans, in my case), and they’ll descend on us – often with the same modus operandi as the picture seekers. These interviewers can be divided into two categories: real and fake. The legitimate ones have a set of questions printed on a piece of paper that they follow and on which they record my answers. The fakers all very clearly make it up as they go, writing nothing, but plowing ahead boldly anyway, and I don’t have the heart to completely shut them down. However, after a few minutes they run out of steam and fade out, while those with the questionnaires follow their script, and I’m usually happy to let them proceed – I am a teacher after all.

The questions, legitimate or otherwise, always follow the same script.

1. What is your name?
2. Where are you from? (About half the time, when I answer that I’m American, they’ll respond with a thumbs up and a hearty “Obama!”)
3. How long have you been in Indonesia?
4. What are you doing here? Student or teacher?

This is all standard fare, but then the inevitable final question:

5. What is the biggest difference between America and Indonesia?

My answer to that question: That question.

At no point in America – if you value your safety or dignity – would someone go up to another person and, based solely upon the premise of their otherness, begin interrogating that person. Certainly not, “Hey, you’re Black/Asian/Hispanic/Insert Ethnicity Here: Answer my questions!” Your answer might come in the form of a punch in the nose.

We’re perfectly accustomed to our heterogeneous lives. Differences are a part of our DNA in the United States – obviously there are those who feel differently, who harbor a deep seated racism. But, walk through any supermarket, not to mention a Whole Foods or something like Jungle Jim’s (a regional tourist destination in the Midwest), and you’ll see evidence that we like difference. Everything we have and everything we are came from another place.

The situation in which I often find myself simply speaks to the homogeneity paradox of Indonesia. At least, in terms of Asian to non-Asian. This is actually a hugely diverse nation. With countless tribal groups (of which I’ve only encountered a scant few), and a large, fairly dominant (in terms of economics) Chinese population, there is nothing but diversity in Indonesia. They have an aspect of their constitution that says, Bhinneka Tunggal Ika, similar to our E Pluribus Unum. However, here there is a minuscule minority of caucasians. Hence, the stares, pictures, and other efforts to single us out. Once I was walking by a school while students were eating lunch, and a group of ten high schoolers ran to the fence and clung to it, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, watching me walk by. I’m not narcissistic, either. I was the only person within sight walking down the road near my house. It’s just an odd fact of life.

I’m not annoyed by it, unless I am actually trying to get work done at the coffee shop, and even then I tell the interviewers that I only have a few minutes to spare and they readily oblige. I worry at times that these moments reinforce the decades – centuries even – old perception of westerners as better or more important than Indonesians, a thought process instilled by the Dutch during their occupation. This imperialistic holdover bothers me. Edward Said would have found some irony, however, as generally he talked about Otherness in context of those in Power marginalizing those without it by thinking of them as set apart and below themselves. The stereotype that stems from the colonial period is that of the European superiority, infused in the culture on many levels. And yet, I am a schoolteacher in Asia who is singled out by those around him, questioned and viewed as exotic. Oh, how the tables have turned, Mr. Said.

And then other times I think that it’s just because I represent a culture that (for better or worse) they’re focused on, through movies and music. They rarely see white people outside of that context, and so they take the opportunity as some would when they see someone famous, because it’s simply outside the realm of normality. So maybe it isn’t so different from Said’s premise, after all.

But most often it’s just the picture. We all smile awkwardly – which everyone knows it is – and take the picture(s). About half the time the whole group takes the picture together, and the rest of the time is a long series of one at a time pictures, just me and a long string of girls. It’s weirder when there’s the random couple of guys in the midst of the girls, because let’s face it: I’d rather have pictures with girls I don’t know than guys.

I hope that when they meet me they realize that there’s nothing special or picture worthy about me. I’m just different, and my kind of different is simply in the form of my skin. Regardless, I’ll still be there, sitting at the coffee shop, probably grading or writing lesson plans, and I’m happy to talk for awhile, though it will be less illuminating than they think.

Respectfully…

Tyler

the impact of personalized news sources

medijsko_sredisceOne of the things I enjoy about living in 21st century America where we have relative economic prosperity and technological innovation are all the choices available to me.

When I was a kid, we’d go to McDonald’s, and I could choose between the Big Mac, the Quarter Pounder, and the Filet-O-Fish.  That was it.  Today my options at the Golden Arches include hamburgers with all sorts of toppings such as bacon habanero ranch, chicken (grilled, crispy, or even nuggets), a McRib, wraps, salads, yogurt, not to mention multiple latte and smoothie flavors.

Of course, Mickey D’s isn’t the only fast food restaurant in town any more, and now I can go to Subway, Qdoba, Jack-in-the-Box, Jimmy John’s, Chick-fil-A, Culver’s, Five Guys, Noodles & Company, or Rally’s, none of which were around when I was young.

Henry Ford famously said you can have any color Model T you want, as long as it’s black.  Today, your local car dealer can offer you shades of Smoky Topaz, Techno Pink, Lemonade Yellow, or Jalapeno Green.  (I did not make any of those up!)  There are plenty more product examples I could provide, but you get the picture.

Where I am going with this is that as I was growing up, our news came primarily from either ABC, CBS, or NBC, period.  Now there’s Fox, CNN, and MSNBC on cable TV, plus a plethora of Internet sites too many to list.  Overall, I think having more choices is better, but in this instance there is a downside.

Because these multiple news sources have a smaller share of the overall market than the big three networks from forty years ago, each of them are able to tailor their news toward the preferences of their audience.  Even if they’re not editorializing, opinions still come out in how stories are presented.  Further bias is demonstrated through what current events are covered (as well as what events are not covered).

Someone who gets their news from the Drudge Report, Breitbart, and the Gateway Pundit will get a totally different view of the world from their neighbor who frequents the Huffington Post, Salon, and Daily Kos.  Those two people could check the news the same morning and end up thinking very different things happened the day before.

I consider myself a political junkie; however, I no longer enjoy engaging in political debates.  So often when I talk with someone from the opposite side of the ideological spectrum, we just end up shouting past each other.  It’s fun and intellectually stimulating to explore differing philosophies and understand why others come to opposing conclusions.  It’s boring and uninteresting argue about what the facts are, and that’s what our political discourse seems to amount to today.

This situation isn’t going to reverse course anytime soon.  In fact I would predict even more customization of our news.  What’s to stop right-leaning news sources from dividing into (for lack of a better term) Tea Party and Establishment news channels?  The left might separate into liberal and full-fledged progressive information sites.

Andy Warhol said that in the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes.  I say, in the future, everyone will have their own personal news source.  And it won’t be pretty.

Respectfully…

Pete

connected

1385104_10203286569822360_1244629544_nSo many issues we face in this modern world: I’ve heard it said recently that things aren’t really any worse than they’ve ever been; we just have the technology to know immediately when trouble arises. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know that we are in a constant state of being connected. But the reality of that is, while the ability to obtain knowledge and communicate with people is always at our fingertips, we as a society as a whole are far less authentically connected than we have ever been.

The truth of the matter is, no matter how many Facebook friends, followers and likes you have on social media, nothing trumps authentic one-on-one communication. Nothing tops spending real time with people.  Not only is it good for your soul, it teaches you about humanity.  How to accept people for all their parts, to see the world through a different perspective, that everyone has something to contribute, how to have a debate when you don’t agree, see expression on their faces, passion in their voices. Know them, truly.

And you can’t get that from any device you can hold in your hand.

You have to have connection — real human connection.  To make friends out of strangers. I was reminded of that last night at my son’s baseball banquet.  Here was a group of 16 boys different ages and grades. Some have played together for years, some have for a few seasons, and some had never played together. But from the start, they have made an effort to get to know one another. Establish a bond. And when the captain, a senior, stood up to give his senior speech, he really made the point clear — you can’t be a team if you don’t have a connection and you can’t have that without spending time together.  Baseball more than any sport is about chemistry. So, when the season started, when they were getting the cobwebs out of their batting mechanics, awakening the muscles used to field a ground ball or the throw from right field to third base, just as important, was building the bond of a team. And seeing those boys together last night, it was more than obvious that is what they are, and more than that, they are friends.

And as this season continues, and it has been a successful one on the field, I think the memories those boys will carry is the fun they had with each other off the field, that so contributed to the success they have had on the field. And they did it through cookouts, and bonfires. Through team lunches, and fishing excursions. They did it by getting to know each other, and the giving and earning of respect.

In person.  Being present in the moments that they will have as memories for all their lives.  They put down their phones and their video games. They didn’t really even post or tweet about any of it. They were too busy living it.

What an example for all of us. How many times a day do you look at your phone?  When you are meeting a friend for lunch how many times do you check your phone?  Send a text? Answer a call? What in your present are you missing by being so plugged in?  Authentic one-on-one communication, it is the greatest way we have to really understand each other. Support each other; learn to respect each other’s differences.

So for me, I’m going to take a cue from my son, and his team. I am going to stop being tied to that tiny screen. Make some authentic plans with people I love and people I want to get to know better.  Maybe if we all did, if we stopped working so hard at being connected, and made actual human connections, we’d all feel more a part of our communities, and society as a whole.  A part of the team.  And if I’ve learned anything this season:  a well-connected team is one that wins.  When that happens, it gives us all something to celebrate.

Respectfully…

Jules